


Returned

by Koruga



Series: Remembrance [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Past manipulation, Revenge, Some casual conversations about torture but nothing actually happens, Unreliable Narrator, he's dead jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koruga/pseuds/Koruga
Summary: Felix manages to get back up after being thrown from the Temple of Communication, and he goes to find Locus. He knows he wants to kill the Reds and the Blues, and maybe Locus as well if things don't go his way. He soon finds out, though, that he's way in over his head.





	1. Contact

He was angry.

 

Of course he was angry. He'd been thrown off of a cliff by a pair of explosives, betrayed by his partner, and beaten by a bunch of colourful morons that didn't even have the good sense to check if he was really dead. He was tired, and broken, and he needed to kill something. Preferably, something wearing a suit of rainbow-coloured armour, very slowly, and very painfully.

 

With an undue amount of effort for what was really required of him, Felix stood up from his prone position on the jagged rocks below the temple, staring up at the useless thing. They'd already sent the message, it seemed. The mission was ruined, not that it mattered to him any more. No reward was worth what he'd just gone through, worth the stabbing pain still blossoming in his body. He was fine. He'd been through worse, he'd been through so much worse before, and he had a job to do. He couldn't just lie down and wait to die. Felix needed to find Locus, and either fuck his broken brain enough that he'd come back to play the role of Felix's attack dog, or cut his limbs off one by one, and watch him bleed out slowly, knowing that he could have avoided all of this if he had just behaved. If he'd just listened to orders.

 

So when Felix began walking, he didn't stop to look at where his body landed. As far as he knew, there was nothing to see.

 

It wasn't too long of a walk to the nearest base. A couple of hours at most -- yeah, it was a pain in the ass, but Felix wasn't tired yet. He was in shit shape from falling a couple hundred meters and narrowly avoiding death, maybe, but he wasn't tired, and any boredom he might have had during the long walk was pretty well assuaged by walking himself through how he'd kill each and every one of the Sim Troopers, along with their Freelancer pets.

 

"Kill the blue one first -- he's too stupid to realise that I'm killing his friends, so I mean, why wait? Get him away from his dumb talking gun, and cut his tongue out so he can't keep running his mouth. God, he's such an idiot, you know that? You're lucky you didn't have to stick with him, Lo--" Oh. Right.

 

Locus wasn't here. He'd run off to help the Reds and Blues.

 

He hadn't forgotten that fact, but it still felt like a kick in the gut and a stab in the heart to remember that Locus wasn't there to listen to his rambling, couldn't give him a grunt or an annoyed sigh when he disagreed with something. It was stupid, really. He'd always hated how Locus didn't respond, anyway, but the lack of a lack of response was...weirdly unnerving. He'd been partnered with Locus for too long -- even being apart on Chorus, playing the part of opposed mercenaries, Locus had still been there, just a call through the comms away. (Of course, half the time, Felix's comms were nowhere close to on, or even in his helmet. Some things never changed.)

 

It would be better not to use them now. If Locus really had changed sides, it would be better not to tell him he was coming. Better to surprise him, get the drop on him so nothing could be done about it.

 

Oh, how Locus hated surprises. Felix had been shot over it a few times, when he'd dropped in without warning. Honestly, Felix would have expected more from a man who used active camouflage as his bread and butter, but what are you going to do. The dude was fucking crazy, anyone with a brain could see that. If it had been anyone but him, Felix was pretty sure that they would have died then and there.

 

He was special. Locus needed him. Locus _wanted_ him.

 

Until, it seemed, he didn't.

 

Felix was festering so deep in his emotions that he almost didn't notice the enormous ship five meters from his face, that he almost ran right into it, took his own head off with the wings. He would have done it, too, if the motor hadn't suddenly hummed to life, almost lyrical like every other fucking thing on this shithole of a planet.

 

So, of course, Felix's first instinct was to stab it. Unfortunately, he had run out of knives, so what would have been an incredibly badass throw into an opponent he literally could not beat ended up with him just awkwardly throwing air.

 

At least nobody was around to see it. And the ship certainly wasn't going to tell anyone about his fuck-up.

 

It was a gorgeous ship, too. Alien in nature, it looked like, sleek and high tech, probably from one of the Temples. Looks like they got the rest of them open, didn't it. Felix frowned for a few seconds, before lighting up. He was alone, after all, and he needed a way off the planet. And here there was just a perfectly good ship, practically begging to be flown. It would be a crime not to take her for a spin. Felix grinned inside his helmet, one hand reaching to what looked like the landing doors.

 

His hand made it a few inches into the material before he was shocked back several feet by some sort of energy pulse.

 

"Oh, you've got to be _fucking kidding me_!" Felix threw his arms up in the air, walking back up to it and trying again. His hand skimmed into the surface of the metal once more, before he was thrown back again, even further this time. "So this is how you want to do this, huh? Do you need me to find and kill your master so I can ride you? Because I'm going to be honest with you, I'm _really_ not in the mood to--"

 

"--ensure that he is given the best care possible. We can send him home with you within a few weeks, but you don't need to stay with him. Agent Carolina contacted us saying she wanted to see him, so you can stop standing, erm, vigil or something?" A voice cut through from a nearby building, making Felix turn his head to see who it was. A young doctor in New Republic armour, sounding more than a little bit nervous as she turned to the door, waiting for somebody to follow her.

 

And that somebody was enough to make Felix press himself up against the nearest wall and curse his luck. Of fucking course Locus was making buddy-buddy with the locals so soon after leaving him to die. Fucker probably thought they were all going to forgive him now, that they'd forget that he was responsible for the deaths of millions of them. He couldn't think of the big picture. Felix knew, Locus would never be able to reintegrate back into society. Not after what he'd done.

 

And yet...here he was. Talking with a doctor as if he belonged here, like he wasn't the goddamned steed of war for this place's apocalypse. Felix was tempted to bash his head into the wall, but Locus had opened his mouth. For once, Felix found it in himself to listen.

 

"Thank you." Locus sounded more subdued than normal, but also more natural than Felix had heard him in years. The vocal filter was still there, but he was actually...emoting, and stuff, which was always strange to hear. "And he will make a full recovery?"

  
  
"Oh, he should. The bullet didn't pierce anything we can't fix, and while he might have some trouble talking for a few months, Agent Washington should survive with his neck fully intact, plus a few scars."

 

 _Agent Washington._ Of course! Of course it was Agent Washington, who else would Locus be doing this for. It's not like the guy knew how to make friends. He was a social pariah even before becoming a soldier, and it only made sense that he was changing all of this because of the fucking Freelancer and Locus's fucking obsession with him. Felix snarled a few curses under his breath, and looked back at Locus, who was heading towards the ship.

 

Figured.

 

He didn't figure the awkward standing around that Locus was doing as he looked at the ship. Felix had started walking closer, keeping himself out of sight. He was just going to sneak on board that ship, corner Locus where he couldn't get away, and then, one way or another, he was going to  be back on top.

 

"What happened?"

 

Locus wasn't looking at him as he spoke, but that was nothing new. Honestly, the man had a vendetta against eye contact, and all the training in the world wasn't going to get him to look Felix in the eyes when speaking. Felix rolled his eyes, stopping a few feet behind Locus. While he might have been caught, Locus also wasn't training his gun on him, which probably meant that he regretted what he'd done. So basically, Felix was in the clear. "Do you mean before or after you watched me get thrown off a cliff, because let me tell you, I didn't fucking forget that one, and I --"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
_What?_ What sort of question was that, did he somehow forget within a couple hours what he'd done? "What do you think I mean, jackass, you watched the Sims stick my shield with an explosive and throw a grenade at my feet. You watched them blow me up, you can't be crazy enough to think that --"  
  
Again, Locus cut him off. "What sort of intruder?" he asked, apparently not understanding Felix in the slightest.  
  
"There's no fucking intruder, do you need me to repeat it to you in Spanish, I'm --"  
  
"I'll take that under advisement." Felix was getting real fucking tired of having Locus cut him off in the middle of his ranting. Felix groaned and took the few steps forward to put his hand on Locus's shoulder and turn him around to face him, and --

 

and his hand --

 

and his hand _went straight the fuck through Locus's armour_ \--

 

 _and Locus walked into the ship as if he hadn't heard a thing that Felix had said_.

 

The shock carried him through a few seconds, before Felix realised that the door was closing again. He bolted in before it could close all the way, not exactly keen on leaving Locus unguarded or himself alone in the current scenario. He was going to need some fucking answers, and he was going to need them sharpish.

 

"Come on, Locus, what the hell are you doing? What's going on here, because I am not in the mood for any of this shit right now. I'm going to need you to stop there, and tell me what's going on, and I need you to -- _answer me!_ " Felix's tone was pleading, almost pathetic, but he needed a fucking answer. He needed Locus to listen to him, and Locus was acting like he couldn't even see him. He was acting like he was --

 

_Like he was a ghost._

 

The realisation shot through Felix's system as he stumbled against the wall. His hand began phasing through it, just like the doors, just like Locus, and Felix pulled his hand back in fear as Locus looked up as if he'd heard something. "A'rynasea, run a scan of lifeforms within the ship. If something is here as you think it is, I want to know what."

 

So he had a copilot. So he'd already fucking replaced him, not just with Washington, but with some fucking asshole on what he could only assume to be a new comm channel who was doing checks for him. This A'rynasea person must have been the same one he was talking to outside.

 

The thought that he was so easily replaced replaced the sharp pains in Felix's body with a dull throb, and Felix finally looked down at himself.

 

As far as he could tell, he looked the same as he ever did. His armour was all still on, and aside from the pains, everything felt normal. He could touch himself as easily as he ever could, but another attempt at grasping Locus proved that this was the exception, and not the rule. So he was...what, a ghost? A Force projection? What the hell was he doing here, and how was he supposed to kill Tucker like this?

 

 _Tucker._ The memory of what might be his murder earned another snarl from Felix, and he tore his helmet off to throw it at the ground. To his surprise, the thing made a sound as it hit the floor, leaving a slight dent and causing Locus to look around with a tenseness that, even with armour on, Felix knew was a battle instinct.

 

The knowledge that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't totally fucked rose up, bringing a grin to his face as Locus knelt down to examine the dent. "I thought I was the only living being aboard the ship," he said tersely to the person over the comms.

 

"Yeah, well, you also thought that you could get rid of me by leaving me to rainbow morons," Felix deadpanned, leaning against the wall and sliding through it again. "Oh, for the love of -- Locus, get better fucking walls for your ship! Ones that can maybe handle a ghost or two? This is really starting to piss me off."

 

As expected, Locus didn't answer, but he did look up, as if trying to determine the angle at which the helmet must have been thrown. (A helmet which, by the way, his leg was phased into. It was not a comfortable sight.) He stood up carefully and  seemingly traced the trajectory in his head, walking up and reaching out a hand to Felix's face.

 

Like, _right_ where his face was. Felix could feel the warmth leaking from the palms of his bodysuit, as he tried to grab something that was _there_. Trying to grab Felix by the cheek, but it looked like that second of near-corporeality was all he had.

 

The minute fall of his shoulders indicated to Felix that he was almost disappointed. "Continue scanning in the background. If you find any intruders, alert me immediately." Locus went over to the cockpit, sitting down and inputting coordinates, or steering, or doing whatever it was that was making this ship go up and out.

 

Felix sat down on the floor, satisfied that at least it wasn't phasing through him and letting him fall down to Chorus again. "Well then, Sam. Seems like you finally got what you wanted. You can't hear a word I'm saying anymore."

 

He had no idea how long the flight was going to be. If there was a time to try and figure out what he was, it was now.


	2. Conclusion

The ride to whatever planet they were on now (Iris, he thought? Locus had only said it once) had taken about five hours, and Felix had learned a few things during the flight.

 

One, A'rynasea was the name of the ship, and Locus, fucking madman that he was, had a way of communicating with it.

 

Two, Wash's throat had been shot during some sort of firefight, and Doctor Grey had managed to fix him up so that he wouldn't even lose his voice.

 

Three, intense anger could get Felix to manifest for a short period of time. This, he'd found out because of the second thing, after he'd yelled about the development in frustration and Locus had turned to look directly at him. Felix thought he'd finally done it, but after those few seconds were over, Locus merely turned to the ship's control panel again and asked it to make a note of the time, that he'd had 'another one', whatever that was supposed to mean. Probably a hallucination or something.

 

Four, that the concept of Locus hallucinating him was not nearly as satisfying as Felix had hoped it would be.

 

He was listing off different ways he'd kill the simulation troopers when they landed, trying to see if his rage at them might set off his physicality again. "So Grif -- you remember Grif, he's the fat yellow one, or, uh. Gold? He said orange, but there's no way that's orange -- whatever, it's not important. I was thinking of maybe just leaving him somewhere, like lock him in a closet. I'd probably cut right into his stomach, maybe shear some of that fucking fat off his body. That wouldn't kill him immediately, but it'd definitely keep him occupied, and then I'd just lock him up somewhere. He's not exactly going to get out himself, right?" Felix snorted as he pushed himself up from the floor that managed to not do weird ghost shit, following Locus as he walked out and into what seemed to be a makeshift military base.

 

For the first time in what Felix had to guess was weeks, Locus carefully took off his helmet. His back was turned to Felix's position, and the first thing Felix could think was _how fucking long his hair had gotten_.

 

During their time as bounty hunters, Locus had kept his hair relatively long. It was the one hint that there was a human inside the soldier, the one piece of frivolity that Locus had allowed himself to have. Locus's ponytail had been fantastic to pull on and tease him with, a multipurpose tool for getting a reaction out of the man back when he still responded to the name Sam Ortez. But Locus had cut it before they'd taken the job at Chorus, and he'd maintained a buzzcut ever since.

 

The ponytail he had now, though, had to have been at least two or three years worth of growing out. It was in the same loose style that it had been all those years ago; not a hint of grey, either. So now, he supposed he knew a fifth thing. He had been dead for longer than a couple of hours. Possibly longer than a couple of years, unless one of the Temples had some magical hair growth gun.

 

The rest of Locus's armour came off next, leaving him in plain underarmour which he quickly replaced with human clothes. "They really got you soft, didn't they? I thought you were still sleeping with that shit on, Lox. Since when did you even own a t-shirt?"

 

Probably since the years that he'd been dead.

 

Felix looked around for the colourful dipshits, but there were none to be seen as Locus cleaned out a spot on the ratty sofa and began cleaning off his armour, dusting off the armguards carefully. It certainly looked like they lived here -- signs of life were all around them, from dirty laundry to empty snack packets to old guns, to a few volleyballs that looked like they'd seen a little too much love over the years. But they were nowhere to be found, not a single Blue soldier. Or a Red soldier, but given Locus's creepy obsession with Washington, he had no doubt that his former partner was living with the Blues.

 

He maintained that doubt right up to the second that Grif walked into the main(?) room of the base, flopping down on top of Locus with a _whumph_. "‘Sup, dude. How long you been back?"

 

"Roughly five minutes. I had enough time to strip my armour, which I was going to clean before you threw yourself onto me." Locus's voice was tinged with annoyance, and for a few seconds, Felix felt a spark inside him. This was where he'd kill this asshole, and then the rest of the Sims, and avenge his death. It wasn't much like Locus to play the long game in quite this way, but Felix could respect it. He could live with it.

 

Unfortunately, the Sim in Locus's lap had different plans. "Your armour is fine, dude. God, you're like Simmons. Not every stupid spot needs to be cleaned off immediately, you don't even have any dried blood on you." He rolled his eyes as he plucked the armguard from Locus's hands and tossed it onto the wobbly coffee table next to them.

 

The Locus Felix knew would never have accepted any of this. The Locus Felix knew would have killed Grif the second he touched the armguard, but this Locus was just sighing in frustration, running a hand through his hair in a painfully familiar way. "I take it you finished your quest," he said quietly, leaning back ever so slightly as Grif laid his head back on Locus's lap.

 

"Oh yeah. Lotta real crazy shit happened. So like, we beat the Blues and Reds, right? And I just wanted to fuckin' go home, and be done with this shit for at least a few weeks. Take a nap, destroy any evidence that I went nuts and started talking to a bunch of volleyballs. But _then_ , it seems like everyone wants to go on this fucking adventure, and stuff keeps coming up that sounds...adventure-y! So of course, I decided that I was going to avoid anything that seemed like a call to action, or like, anything that could possibly be important. All of it. That's why I didn't answer your call, by the way. I was trying to get out of having to do anything, so I hope it wasn't important."

 

"It was."

 

"Cool, you can tell me about it later. So anyway, like I was saying, I was avoiding all this important shit. And Simmons kept saying, like, you can't avoid it forever, but like, come on, man, it's me we're talking about here. But then, _Donut_ \--"

 

And then, that faint twitch of Locus's mouth, and the emotional floor finally dropped out from under him.

  
  
Felix had seen Locus's smile. Of course he had, they'd known each other for over a decade, and had been partners for almost that long. He'd seen the half-drunken smiles that Locus would give the few times Felix had gotten alcohol into his system. He'd coaxed a few smirks, back when Locus still went by Sam and responded to jokes. He'd watched his partner intently during the ecstasy of meaningless sex that Locus affirmed as being just this once over and over, and he'd seen the unconscious pleasure rippling through his face. Felix had taken those smiles to heart, kept them in his memory because any positive emotion from Locus was rare enough. He could tell when Locus was smiling even with the stupid helmet on, from the soft exhale and sweetness of silence for a second and a half. 

 

The entire time they had been on Chorus, even accounting for their near-constant use of body armour, Felix had not seen or heard Locus's smile once. 

 

And here this _fat idiotic yellow mother fucker_ was easing a genuine chuckle from Locus just by blabbering on about his _fucking day_ . 

 

Felix had half been expecting Wash to come in despite being in the hospital, to start making out with Locus like there was no tomorrow, to heal his trauma with his magic Freelancer dick. He could have fed off the anger it gave him, maybe manifest for good, or -- _something._ He'd have come up with so many more ways to make Washington pay for stealing Locus from him, for getting out of what must have been a death sentence when Felix was doomed to spend the rest of his days as a ghost..

 

But this?

  
He had nothing.

 

Felix just watched, flickering in confusion as he watched Locus quietly smile and chuckle along to Grif's story, making thoughtful murmurs and grunts when it was appropriate. It felt like something was stolen from him, torn out of his chest and stamped on. His chest constricted despite not needing to breathe any more, and heat rose to his face in anger, embarrassment, any mixture of emotions. He drew in a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and Locus looked up at the noise he shouldn't be able to hear, and stared Felix right in the eyes. There was no doubt that he could see Felix, some way, somehow. He knew that Felix was there.

 

And then he looked back down at Grif, and shook his head, and Felix's heart shattered again. He couldn't hear anything any more, the sounds from Grif muffled from the second betrayal. He just stood there, in shock and pain, before an unfamiliar voice cut through the static.

 

"Ouch."

 

Felix tensed up, one hand getting ready to slam into the stranger as he whipped his head to look at the person who tore him out of his pain.

 

The person who quickly put his arms up in mock surrender. Dark hair, light skin, and that was where the resemblance he had to Felix stopped. The man had some decent muscle on him, and instead of full armour, he was clad in what looked like jeans and a Grifball shirt.

 

The most eyecatching thing, however, was the scar that ran across half of his face, cutting through one of his eyes. It was clear just from looking at him that the man was halfway to being blind, and clear from the way that neither Locus nor the fatass responded that he, too, was a ghost.

 

"Hey, hey, I'm not here to hurt you. But, wow." The man whistled low. "Hell of a way to get him to notice you. Probably the worst one yet."

 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Felix asked, reaching again for a knife that wasn't there.

 

"You're not the only one who hangs around the living. Hell, there's about five or six in Wash's hospital room right now, but I thought I'd follow you, see what you were doing. I didn't expect you to take so long to notice me, but I guess I'm not as bad at sneaking around as they think I am." The man chuckled. "The name's York, by the way. You might want to get settled in."

 

The normal thing here would be to respond with his own name, but Felix really wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "What the hell do you mean?"  


"Welcome to the afterlife, buddy. There's nothing to do but get comfortable, you're not going anywhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as a piece of fanart of Grif lying on Locus's lap. Unfortunately, I only work in traditional art and I fucked up the colours, so I decided to make some fanfic instead. It got out of hand...pretty quickly.
> 
> I might write some more stuff in the same vein of this universe, with the ghosts of dead people just sort of hanging around the living. I've got a few concepts for it, but I don't have anything I really know I wanna do with it yet. But maybe possibly coming soon is the dead Freelancers bonding in Wash's hospital room while Felix throws rocks at them. We'll just have to wait and see.


End file.
